He felt her jerk backwards.
‘I need you inside me.’
The hoarseness of her voice made him move more than the words she’d said.
Lifting her gently, he tried to pull her round to face him, only his leg got in the way. It would have been awkward if it had happened the first time, but they had nothing to prove now, he realised, and when she started to laugh it was the most natural thing in the world to bury his face in her hair and laugh too.
She sat up. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to kill the mood.’
She was straddling him, with his erection pressing against the slick heat between her thighs, and he couldn’t remember ever feeling such an ache of longing. It went beyond want. This was need. A vast, untapped seam of need that was infinitely more powerful than desire.
His stomach tightened and, reaching up, he cupped her breasts, his thumbs grazing the nipples. ‘I don’t think anything could do that,’ he said slowly. ‘I want you all the time, Frankie.’
His hunger was like a burn, or an itch beneath the skin that no amount of scratching could satisfy. Her touch did something to him...made him want more and more.
‘I want you too. I want you so much.’ She sucked in a breath, her voice suddenly scratchy with emotion. ‘I want—’
‘Shh, Frankie, shh...’ He placed his finger against her lips. ‘It’s okay, it’s okay,’ he said soothingly.
But, her eyes were so blue, so clear—too clear. He felt as if he could see into her soul, feel what she was feeling vibrating in his chest.
Only the fact that he was feeling anything other than desire was wrong. He didn’t do feelings. That was why he couldn’t offer her a real relationship—why this could only ever be about sex.
Heart hammering, unable to face the emotion in her eyes, he raised himself onto his elbows and kissed her desperately, passionately, fiercely, needing to wipe out the emotion churning inside him.
Pulse throbbing, he cupped her buttocks, taking her weight in his hands as she lowered herself onto him.
He gripped her hips and began to move slowly, wanting to take his time, to give her pleasure that would eclipse any he’d ever given her before.
His hands found her nipples and he tugged them gently, squeezing the taut tips, feeling a hot rush of satisfaction as a sound that quivered with pure sexual need broke from her lips.
Dropping his hands to her belly, he stroked the smooth skin and then, as she started to rock against him, slid his fingers between her thighs.
Her hands caught his wrists and, looking up at her face, he felt his body tighten so swiftly and strongly that he was afraid he would come there and then.
His body shuddered. Yes. This was what he wanted: heat and frenzy and release.
Blood roaring in his ears, he reached up and kissed her again, his fingers tightening in her hair as he felt his muscles start to tense, his own wave of pleasure building inside him, rising up, dark and unstoppable.
He felt her body lock around his as she cried out against his mouth, and then the wave hit him with full force, curling over him and pounding through him as he thrust into her.
Heart raging, he wrapped his arms around her body and buried his face in her hair. ‘Frankie—’
Breathing out, he stroked a tangle of curls away from her face. His body was aching, almost hurting from the intensity of his orgasm, but then his eyes met hers, and the depth of emotion he saw there blotted out that pain with another kind of pain that made him look away.
His ribs felt too tight.
He didn’t want to see that softness for him there. That was a need he couldn’t meet. He’d tried once before, and failed, and nothing had changed.
He hadn’t changed.
He might not be young and naive anymore, but he was still that same man. Still intense and unapproachable, uncommunicative and uncompromising. A man defined by his limits.
He could never be full of fire and drama like his father, or vivacious and beautiful like his mother and Johnny.